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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26073466">I'll hang me out to dry</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/misgivings/pseuds/misgivings'>misgivings</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Homestuck</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ableist Language, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Fear, POV First Person, Praise Kink, Rough Sex, Shower Sex, Slavery</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 13:00:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,748</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26073466</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/misgivings/pseuds/misgivings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"I believe trolls would describe the driving emotion behind love as pity. Kanaya seemingly pities me. I live and enjoy small luxuries only at her pleasure. I scurry around at her heels doing menial work. Even physically, she towers over me, maybe 7 or 8 feet—to her I am a child. But I know her to be chronically maternal to a fault, at least in some fucked up alien facsimile of it. How could she not, cast in her role as a metaphorical mother of billions? It is written in her fate. I cannot puzzle out of all this what she feels about me. </p>
<p>I certainly know she doesn't mind sharing me."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Rose Lalonde/Kanaya Maryam, Rose Lalonde/Karkat Vantas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Drone Season 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I'll hang me out to dry</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rick_o_matic/gifts">Rick_o_matic</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I’m glad when I wake naturally, if in some discomfort. My eyes open to sheer dark and I reach for the socket, flicking on an orange glow. It wasn’t easy to acquire a desk lamp, because they are an aesthetic curiosity at best for nocturnal aliens. I had to save up a few favours and work particularly hard, and I guess it’s a nice reward for all that to be able to briefly pretend I’m home—not billions of miles from my own sun, and likely to never feel it on my skin again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s also nice that I’ve preempted my master’s awakening. I rise off of the slab-like mattress and climb to my feet, naked, supporting myself with one hand on the wall. The red metal is always warm to the touch. Her quarters are nestled deep in the biomechanical belly of the beast, close to the lowblood quarters. It feels like someone cranked the thermostat too high, and it only gets worse in the fever pitch of battle. Apparently it reminds her of where she grew up.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Immediately I leave my room—a glorified closet, really, befitting my status slightly above a tool. Kanaya lays out clothing she expects me to wear on a display mannequin right next to the doorway, and for today it is completely barren. I would blush if I still had any innocence left. It's happened before. Sometimes, I suspect, she is just forgetful, but she plays coy so well that this could be an intentional game.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I snap on yellow rubber gloves and hope it doesn't count as dissent. Kanaya’s kismesis made a brief social call last morning. Not so brief that they didn't hate-fuck on half the horizontal surfaces, but brief enough that the cruel naval captain didn't get bored and start paying attention to me. I get down on my knees and scrub cerulean grime out of the grout and avoid thinking about the times I’ve narrowly avoided being another one of Kanaya’s belongings she breaks for attention.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I see you've chosen to accessorise. I don't think such bold colours are good on you.” Kanaya says. I freeze immediately and look up, realising she's fully awake and holding a mug of steaming liquid. The damn woman moves like a ghost.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“With all due respect, madame, caustic hygiene chemicals interfere with my prescribed skincare routine.” I say, and smile with bated breath. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I suppose,” She begins, shrugging like she's the most magnanimous bitch in the galaxy, “I can permit this adjustment while you work.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Like that, she walks past me down the hall to her sitting room. I look down to my hands and realise I'm trembling, perhaps enough that she noticed. Obviously, I'm afraid: Kanaya permits me to get away with a dangerous amount of snark for a slave, but I know one day I'll push it too far. I dread to think what will happen then.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I lie to myself and pretend it was just fear. That the towering, noble alien ogling me with some interest <em>frightened </em>me. I lie, and then stuff these untidy feelings away where nobody can find them. I can think about the implications when I'm free or dead. There is still work to do, and a happy Kanaya is more inclined to dress me.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>First the stains are dealt with, then the laundry. Kanaya is an exception to the rule that her kind don't care for fashion, which manifests in my life as a menagerie of fabrics to take care of. She's the kind of maniac to wear multiple outfits in the same day, which is probably more appealing when your slave washes it all.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I don't know how much time has passed when I'm done. My life is spent in twilight alien halls on a constantly active hiveship, and I suspect one day my circadian rhythms will give up the ghost. I make some tea; the leaves are purple, like nettles, and smell like ammonia to my nose, but it was not cheap to acquire. Kanaya's favourite. When it's steeped long enough, I pour a mug for myself and force myself to drink it. The caffeine keeps me from losing it altogether. Satisfied it is disgusting but made correctly, I load the pot and a much nicer ceramic cup onto a silver tray and carry it to Kanaya’s workspace.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The strained smile she gives me is proof that she's grateful. The cooling mustard corpse on her dissection table is presumably why. I avert my eyes out of respect for the dead while she reviews her notes and sips at her tea. Finally, she sighs and turns to me.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Rose, do you know much about epidemiology?” She asks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Surely less than you do, ma'am.” I look at the body again. Kanaya has artfully opened up the cadaver, probably with a chainsaw. I've been by her side long enough that I can hold my bile down.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hm. That will do.” Kanaya offers me a seat while she talks me through what she's been doing. I can follow along okay but most of it goes out of my head a couple sentences later. Fortunately, she doesn't really expect me to solve anything. I'm just a convenient sounding board. Her particularly cumbersome way with words is almost charming. In another life, perhaps qualities I would enjoy; as a human, I could have become quite taken with her. A quaint thought. I could get lost in it, but the reek of formaldehyde keeps me grounded.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Then that would mean…” Her voice trails off as she takes on a dire look. I’m certain that behind her eyes she will be calculating potential deaths and fallout over this. I've seen it before. She has a job that would break most humans and quite a few trolls, and she handles it with a scary composure.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her gaze goes to me. I feel particularly naked; as if she could slice my flesh open with just her eyes and figure out what makes me tick. I wonder if I could catch the virus too. Does that worry her? Should it worry me?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I think she's going to dismiss me from her office when she puts her arm out, but instead she takes me by the arm like a child and quickly walks me back into her private quarters. I have to step quickly to keep up.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Is something the matter?” Kanaya processes my question for a moment, and while she does she opens the dresser where she keeps my things.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh I wouldn't worry yet,<em> ” </em>She says while manhandling me into a white shirt a little rougher than I would have liked. Her hard nails clack against the buttons as she dresses me up. “But I am going to have to talk to my esteemed superiors before it turns into something that should quite concern us all. I can't know how long I will be and therefore I'm going to have to ask you to entertain Karkat’s company, something I doubt he will be happy about.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Great. I'd hoped to not be alone for that. I pull on some underwear and pants before Kanaya can scratch me any more. She's normally a lot softer, but normally she isn't rattled by anything as severe as this. I can forgive her, if only because I hardly have the agency to hold a grudge.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What should I tell him?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The bare essentials, for now.” She says as she puts a little flower in my hair. Ever since learning the meaning of my name she has found it to be a fitting touch. Hard to find roses anymore, though.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Should I delay the dinner?” I smooth out my shirt and look in the mirror. It's a very simple outfit; no sense dressing me up if Karkat is coming over.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Of course not. You will serve my moirail a piping hot dinner in my stead.” Kanaya kisses me on the forehead quickly and goes back to her study before I can say anything. I touch the spot, like I can feel her coolness lingering on my skin. I want to <em> thank </em>her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I believe trolls would describe the driving emotion behind love as pity. Kanaya seemingly pities me. I live and enjoy small luxuries only at her pleasure. I scurry around at her heels doing menial work. Even physically, she towers over me, maybe 7 or 8 feet—to her I am a child. But I know her to be chronically maternal to a fault, at least in some fucked up alien facsimile of it. How could she not, cast in her role as a metaphorical mother of billions? It is written in her fate. I cannot puzzle out of all this what she feels about me. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>I certainly know she doesn't mind sharing me.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After standing dumbstruck by her affection for far too long, I snap out of it, digging my nails into my palms in frustration. My cheeks are flush with heat as I start on dinner. By now I know the culinary preferences of Kanaya’s entire quadrant-matrix; tonight is a grub and tuber casserole with brash flavours I know Karkat will enjoy. He has no patience for highblood subtleties. If he made a cookbook, the only measurement I imagine it containing would be imperial fucktons.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I put dinner in the oven, and start making a pile of cushions as is Alternian tradition. It's about waist height when the doorbells chirps. I answer it promptly and act vaguely surprised.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Residence of the Medikhan Maryam, how may I help you?” I say, earning a glare.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Cut the crap. It wasn't fucking funny the first time, but you use your human sarcasm like poison and seem to think if I build up enough inside me it will kill me. Newsflash, our memes are far more fucking potent and insidious, so it won't work.” Karkat shoves past me into the hive, and his nose twitches. He stomps around a bit with his head cocked before turning to me.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Where is she?” He demands of me. I smile, relishing in holding back the truth just long enough to see him pout. I take my time climbing onto the pile, curling around it as I sink into the softness and get comfortable. It has an immediate, instinctual effect on his demeanour, showing me soft eyes he usually reserves for Kanaya.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The Madame is quite busy in meetings. I'm sure she will be happy to tell you all about it later, but you understand that she had to prioritise the convenience of her superiors in this-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“My understanding,” He hisses (so long for softness), scowling at me, “Is that you<em> understand </em> hierarchy in as much complexity as a freshly hatched wriggler. The moment I let you lecture me about social dynamics will coincide with me getting culled for whatever spontaneous mental retardation has stricken me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You mean other than the usual sort?” I would say, if we were equals. If I were a troll, and I could push his buttons in a carefully choreographed courtship, and relish in the results it gave me. I am not. I am Kanaya’s slave, and in this manner I am her romantic proxy. It's something trolls are reluctant to talk about, but utterly essential to understanding as a servant.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I'm sure I must have misheard, then.” I say deferentially instead. He joins me on the pile.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah, I bet you fucking did. Whatever, I'm sure she can come up with a better reason for not seeing me. Does she know how hard I had to fight to get this time off? People think I just exist at their convenience. Can you guess what my fucking bastard underling had the nerve to say before I left?” Typical. Anything can be a springboard for complaining with him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Not in the slightest.” I say, and if my sarcasm comes dangerously close to getting me put down for defiance it hardly shows. He's the type to get entirely wrapped up in telling a story about something that happened to him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It goes like this for a while. His rants go in five different directions and I do my best to only bother remembering the important details. I was hoping to hear about the Empress, who in his role as an honour guard he is uniquely close to, but for such a chatterbox he's good at information security when it matters. Instead I hear a lot about a woman, who he has…<em> history  </em>with. I can tell I'm in it for the long haul when it becomes another quadrant lecture.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Now obviously you wouldn't fucking get this, but-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Karkat,” I interrupt, “you've schoolfed me every iota of information that could possibly exist on the quadrants. I have had the troll romance talk dozens of times over the last sweep. I am so fucking immersed in your culture that I'm beginning to wonder if <em>you</em> understand romance.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He looks at me for the first time since he started venting, and his hand goes out for me. I flinch, expecting the firm drubbing I deserve, but he grabs my collar and forces me to look at him. This is not his resting bitch face, but a look of contempt.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I get it, you're not my fucking moirail. God, how did I ever get so pathetically mastubatory about my issues when all of them are about me being a spineless reject.” He looks down for a second. This is why black romance will never work for this boy. He can't sustain a hatred for anyone but himself, let alone me.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His other hand takes my shoulder and rolls me onto my back, and he launches face-first into my neck. Karkat has the bluntest teeth I've seen on an alien, which is why this is foreplay and not a summary execution. It leaves my skin raw anyway, and in the whirlwind of movement I don't know what to think or feel.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So I start undressing, heart racing. I realise Kanaya’s tacit permission in leaving me here to appease him. I've gotten him off before, with my hands and mouth and a waiting bucket, and always under her watchful eye and at her order. This is rawer. Scarier. His hands immediately begin to grope-no, maul-my chest. Fascinated with the softness, which must seem like a dire weakness in contrast to rumble spheres. He scrapes my soft underbelly with his short, hard nails, and I gasp. I think he likes that, because he does it again. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Exploring the rest of my skin he finds my nipples, toying with them between his dull claws. Applying sadistic, agonising pressure. I want to scream. He's watching me for it, and when I don't give him what he wants he grows sullen and rips off my pants like I'm taking too long. His breath stops for a second and without it the room is too silent. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>I follow his gaze to the object of his fixation—my underwear. Silken, provocative. But that's not what’s gotten him. It's the embroidered mark of Virgo. He's not appreciating the irony, I think. Rather, his lusty animal brain has been reminded abruptly of his conciliatory partner, and isn't sure what to make of me. This is some kind of dire taboo, bedding me in a pale pile in his moirail’s hive. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I'm so fucked up.” He whispers, and pulls them off too. I am bare, again. He glances at my most private parts. My heart goes still in terror while his hand claws up my thigh, fearing further tortures, but with the pad of his thumb he traces my labia curiously. He spreads it a little and his eyebrows lift in surprise when it complies.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You want this.” He says, like reciting a fact.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don't have protective chitin folds, moron. It always looks this way.” I grumble. He laughs in one quick bark, and slides a finger inside of me. I gasp, grabbing his forearm, but he's strong. Firm, from sweeps of battle and gruelling training. I couldn't stop him if I tried.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He goes all the way to the last knuckle and curls, and I capitulate with the most vulnerable little squeak I've heard from myself. Karkat looks very smug. I think, if I had my way, he would never get to look smug again. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>His finger slides out and against all reason I miss it, during the awkward moment while he shuffles off his pants. I stare at the fat, candy red slug that protrudes between his parting plates. Beneath it is the slick, glistening insinuation of a nook. There should be a snide remark on my tongue about him wanting this too, but I can't find it. I gawk at his cock like a gormless idiot until he takes the initiative and pins me down into the pile.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Karkat is short, even for a male troll, and as he roughly pushes my legs open we’re face to face. I consider kissing him, an empty gesture that might give him pause. But he isn't even looking at me. He gets his fist messy around his bulge and guides it closer. I'm not as wet as I need to be, but his slimy prick doesn't care—I feel it instinctively worm in and close my eyes tight. His hips lurch forward all at once and I purse my lips, but past the tip he gets thicker quick. It hurts more than it feels good for a second, but then the whole bulge writhes like an eel and I moan out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His little chuckle tells me he's looking smug. I don't open my eyes to verify this. I know he's won. His hands scoop under my knees and lift my legs. Does he know Kanaya does that too? Would it squick him, or be a paradoxical turn on?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I hate you.” I hiss. Because it's true, but also because I know it's the dirty talk he wants to hear. He thrusts into me so hard I can feel the tile through the dozen pillows, and we grunt, the closest thing to unity between us.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Your hate means nothing to me.” He grumbles, pushing his face against mine so I can feel his leathery skin, see the small scars of a lifelong fighter.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“As if I care what a mammal thinks of me. I don't go about my day worrying about any rodents I might have pissed off.” Karkat kisses me hard and fast and pulls away before I can bite him. His claws press into my sides, too blunt to cut but with bruising pressure. He starts fucking me hard, slamming the air out of my lungs and making me quiver.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I would love to say that I went to my happy place, but it's been so long I can't conceive of one. And besides—there is a pleasure to be felt here, as ashamed of it as I am. I breathe against his neck and just hold onto him, listening to his breathy noises of bliss. They're the accompaniment to the painfully loud slap of his skin on mine, stinging my ass. I snake a hand down between us to touch myself, but he intercepts it and sneers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“As if I don't know how to work your underdeveloped primate nook.” Karkat growls, like I've hit at his pride. He dips his hand down and starts working me over with his fingertips in slow waves of crushing pressure, and I contort breathlessly. He plays my body like an instrument, clumsy but insistent, leaving me helpless but to dance. His bulge grows too heavy with engorgement to move and he just rams me with it, no grace needed. It's mind-numbingly good, my nerves aching for him. There's no clear climax amidst this constant maximal stimulus, he just grinds me into unthinking fucked-out dust.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I know when<em> he’s</em> getting close. His entire bulge seems to throb with his hummingbird heartbeat, and I know what's coming. My eyes shoot open.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bucket,” I plead, “before you-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He shuts me up with his hand over my mouth. I watch his face screw up and he hums and grumbles like a motor turning over. Then his self-control breaks with a singular yell of ‘fuck’. I feel his first rope of genetic slurry hit my insides like a splash, and it triggers something in me that makes me melt and submit. My eyes glaze over and I count each red hot, pent up spurt. My stomach’s distended a little by the time he's done, but most of the excess runs down my thighs and pools under us, seeping through the fabrics. I'm lucky enough to be naked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Karkat, charmer he is, pulls out only a couple seconds after regaining lucidity, zipping his pants and standing up. He looks at me, at the mutant cream pie oozing from my body, and smirks. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That's biological contraband, slave. Clean it up. I need to take a leak.” Karkat chuckles as I hear his boots on the floor, walking away. All I can do is stare at the ceiling. Of course he doesn't hate me <em> that </em> way. I'm just a fuck to take his mind off his childhood sweetheart. An ache sets into my muscles as endorphins drain out of me and the memory of his roughness is all that's left. And the hot, seeping mess he made in me.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There's no time to wallow. I slump off of the pile, onto my knees and hands, and disassemble the mound of pillows as fast as I can, dividing between clean and soiled before only the latter remains. They will need washing by hand, but not now. I stuff the filthy evidence away in my closet and dab the tiles clean with disposable towels. I've become so good at this.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When Karkat comes back there's not a shred of evidence except me. He puts on the media suite and skims the overly long titles of the onboard catalogue of permitted material while I wipe myself off with my pride bruised. I can't take being near him like this, and so I stumble into the kitchen and manifest the appearance of being busy until dinner is ready.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Kanaya doesn't arrive in time to join us, and with just him here I have no business acting like an equal. I plate up a healthy serving and set it on the dining table, apologising profusely for her absence as he sits. I retreat before I can receive a verbal or literal flogging for his inevitable distaste. The remainder of my casserole goes in the hunger-trunk because hearing him stuff his face in the next room is the nail in my appetite’s coffin. I'm sure Kanaya will enjoy it later. With every immediate task accomplished and Karkat sufficiently placated, I skulk to my block and flop face-down on the mattress, sneaking away to fall into exhausted dreamless slumber.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When Kanaya shakes me awake, I can't tell what she's saying at first. I croak an equally unintelligible something or other, and she sighs, rolling me over and sitting me up.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I said, that looks like it might stain.” She says in a polite, soft voice. I look dumbly at her face for a moment, the face that's ruled my life. There is comfort in the devil I know. I follow her gaze to the red on my sheets, and the red on my legs. At least I feel less bloated.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If it does, let it be my problem.” I shrug. Kanaya’s eyes move up to the bruises he gave me and I can't tell how she feels about them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Karkat said you were a good host.” Kanaya says, with a note of disapproval. I avoid meeting her eyes at all costs. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I did my best.” I mutter to my navel, head down.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Come.” She takes my hand, not giving much of a choice. I stand up out of bed rather than let her wrench my arm, and look at her smooth grey back exposed by her dress while she drags me to the ablution block. She Weekend-at-Bernie’s me into the shower, a lot more graceful with her strength than her moirail. Just seeing them move, one could understand the dynamic instantly. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Any thankful, fond thoughts disappear in an instant when she turns on the water, ice cold, and I jump so hard both my feet leave the ground and I just barely avoid becoming another casualty to xenocultural differences. It clicks for her after a moment and she turns the tap to hot.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sorry.” She mumbles, feeling rarely sympathetic, and just leaves me to melt in the steamy joyous warmth. My reflection in the mirror looks positively dumbfounded when I see she is undressing too.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She joins me in the shower, and for a brief moment towers over me blocking all the water. My body is already flushed pink from the heat, but I know I'm blushing anyway. Kanaya laughs, causing me to notice that I am in fact staring right forward into her chest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You seem taken with my rumble spheres.” She says, taking the showerhead off its mount and rinsing my hair. She's the type to be more bothered by terrible bedhead than I am. I don't mind her delicate, spindly fingers sliding through my hair, tickling on my scalp. Not one bit.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her attention turns to where I have failed to adequately substitute for a bucket. She turns down the heat and intensity both, and uses the showerhead to clean my thighs and ass off. With a coarse soapy sponge in her other fist, she scrubs me raw from my collar to my knees. Squirming in discomfort as I am, I develop another stupid theory. She's jealous. She let Karkat use me and realised that isn't okay with her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When she's satisfied with my cleansing, she turns the nozzle between my thighs, clamping a hand on my shoulder before I get any bright ideas about stopping her. It is immediately overwhelming, doubly so when she uses her fingers to gently spread my lips. I cry out but it earns me no mercy. I must be as clean as I'm getting but she doesn't stop. Instead she stops her head down to my height, nose just barely tickling my ear. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You are such an excellent servant. You were remiss to share yourself knowing how I treasure you.” She whispers, and I feel my chest tighten. I'm in a small cubicle with a very large and dangerous woman that I have been foolish enough to make <em>jealous</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I was,” I say, shakily, retreating into the corner of the shower. The pleasure is making me tremble and my calves ache from just staying upright. “Will my c-courteous master graciously forgive a simple girl for a foolish mistake?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“She will,” Kanaya purrs, jamming the pulsing flow of water right against my clit and relishing in the sob I release, “because she finds her human utterly pitiable.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The revelation drops like an anvil when I barely have space for my own thoughts. She pushes just the tip of her finger inside me and I crest so high my legs turn to jelly. Kanaya scoops me up before I've registered it, and I hear the showerhead clatter to the floor along with my delirious moaning.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do you-did I mishear? Do you mean that how I think you do?” I whimper, resting my head against her cool shoulder.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Would it please you to hear me say that I don't know? There is not a useful word for the attraction between a master and her slave, even if she is very useful. You might have noticed we aren't especially good at naming things.” Kanaya smiles, and I smile with her. My damn guard is down. She sets me down on my feet again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“From now on, we will be honest with our feelings. Wouldn't you like that?” She says, and waits when I don't answer right away. My throat feels dry as a bone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I think that I would.” I say meekly, and she pets my head, something I lean into. She turns off the water and kisses me on the forehead like a coddling mother.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Good girl.” Kanaya returns me to my bed and changes the sheets for me, despite my tired protests to let me do it. I sleep easily.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The next morning, I find a simple leather collar hung on my doorhandle. The clasp bears her mark. I wear it without hesitation.</p>
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